


Never Mind the Thunder

by Niobium



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen, No Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niobium/pseuds/Niobium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson's team get some outside help with an Eval and Intake that's gone somewhat pear-shaped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Mind the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Jemma-centric. For this prompt at comment_fic: [MCU (Avengers or Thor or AoS), any, "I _told_ you not to anger the weather witch!"](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/513301.html?thread=74884373#t74884373)
> 
> Although I tagged this for Graphic Violence, there's only a few brief descriptions and suggestions, nothing extensive.
> 
> The Thor/Jane is blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.
> 
> Takes place some indeterminate time after _Yes Men_ and before _The End of the Beginning_. No spoilers for Captain America 2. Spoilers for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. through _Yes Men_.
> 
> This is not contemporary with [_Number One Crush_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1117741) due to the contents of _Yes Men_.

***

" _What_ did I tell you?" Jemma demanded. Fitz flinched back from the fist-sized balls of hail that ricocheted against the hard-packed ground and into their cover.

"I was just trying to—"

"I _told_ you not to anger the weather witch!"

"I'm _sorry_ , but I was just asking her where she—"

Their earpieces burst with static. "Fitz. Simmons."

"May. We're under the carport." Jemma looked up at the corrugated metal roof, which was showing signs of fatigue. "But I don't know how much more of this it can take." Her warning was underscored by a groan from the meager house which the carport was attached to. It rattled precariously in the gusting winds, and one window was already blown out. ”Or the house,” she added. 

"Just hang on. We have help on the way."

"May," Fitz said, "we tried to use an I.C.E.R. round, it didn't work." Through the windows of the old sedan which they’d hidden behind, Jemma could see the manzanita trees lining the front yard bowed to the ground, framing the withered old woman who was screaming incoherently in their general direction.

"Not that kind of help. Sit tight."

They exchanged a glance. "What other kind of help is there at this point?" Jemma asked. 

The answer was nothing like she expected.

Jemma had been near plenty of explosions in her life. There was the ordinance Fitz was always testing; their missions, on which she couldn’t exactly wear ear protection; and in the Academy the more rambunctious students had been forever ‘experimenting’ (and somehow she wound up with more than her fair share of them as roommates). And yet, despite these experiences, being a few dozen feet from a lightning strike was on its own level. 

The lightning itself came and went so fast she barely registered the flash—or perhaps that too was an effect of the thunder, which was the only thing she could remember of that moment for days afterward. It was the sound of a world splitting apart. It was so deep and high it covered the full spectrum of imaginable noise and banished all coherent thought. It made her want to curl up and hide like a small thing cowering in a burrow, hoping against hope that whatever cataclysm had arrived would overlook her.

She and Fitz let go of one another reluctantly, adrenaline leaving them shaking. Fitz’s eyes widened, and he hazarded a glance over the roof of the decrepit car. What he saw had him yanking at Jemma’s collar, and she dragged herself up, using the side-view mirror to support herself.

An eye had formed in the raging supercell that spun overhead, and though it might have been Jemma’s imagination the whole storm system seemed to be weakening. The hail had stopped, leaving the ground blazing white for several hundred feet in a rough circle around the house, and a gentle rain was falling in its place.

But what really drew her attention was the tall, blond, red-caped man standing in front of the old woman. The wind stirred his hair and the cape, yet the rain seemed to bend away from him. A rectangular-headed hammer with a leather-wrapped handle hung at his side.

Fitz swallowed. “Is that really him?” he whispered.

“I think it must be,” Jemma said, her voice just as quiet.

Thor’s voice was anything _but_ quiet. It cut through the wind and rain like they weren’t even there. "Child, why are you abusing the elements in this manner?"

 _Child?_ Jemma thought. 

Fitz murmured, “Well that’s a bit rude.”

The old woman stared at Thor, her desperate wildness giving way to uncertainty. "You can use the weather too."

"I can. And if you are not new to your power then you know the dangers of what you are doing. To others, and to yourself."

She pointed unerringly at Fitz and Jemma, and for her part Jemma couldn’t help but shrink back. "They came to hurt me!” The wind picked up its pace on the heels of her accusation. “They came to take mom’s statue."

"They came to help you. The artifact is making you ill."

The woman swallowed, and while before she’d been terrifying to behold, now she seemed only frail and scared; a wraith of a person in tattered, fraying clothes. "It's all I have left of my mom. They took the rest. The other people. They took all of her things." She smeared away tears that had begun to fall with an impatient gesture.

"Surely your mother would not want her legacy to be your suffering and death. Please. Let us help you.”

The woman watched him for a long time, wavered, and started to collapse, and in a few long strides he’d closed the distance between them and caught her before she could reach the ground. Overhead the storm system dispersed into errant clouds, and the rain became a heavy mist, then ceased all together.

Jemma stood up and dusted herself off, saying, “Well then.” 

“Yes, yes. See?” Fitz said, and scrambled to his feet. “It worked out fine.” 

Jemma narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave her a wane, apologetic smile.

***

Thor settled the woman in one of the SUVs and warned the rest of them to stay outside until he’d had a chance to look at what he called the ‘artifact’, which Jemma assumed was the small statue which had caused this entire situation to begin with. Ward and May kept an eye on the subject while Jemma and Fitz waited for Thor’s word that they could start poking around with their equipment. 

“I _told_ you it was something,” Fitz said to her. “I bet it’s Asgardian. You know it’s almost like Earth is the underside of their sofa, or a closet they toss everything into and forget about.”

“If you thought it was a Something then why did you have to go and touch it?”

“I thought it was a Something, not a _Special_ Something, and even if I thought it was a Special Something how was I to know she’d get so upset?”

“Because she was clearly agitated just by you being near it. Did you pay _no_ attention in our psychology classes?”

“I seem to recall I’m the one who got—oh, here he comes.”

Thor had emerged from the house holding the piece, which was a roughly two foot long, jagged and twisted figure formed of something resembling burnished bronze and veins of a brilliant orange, unpolished gemstone, mounted on a pedestal of dark red wood. Jemma found it difficult to determine what it might represent, but on first glance she thought it resembled a tree in various stages of growth.

Fitz said in a low voice, “Does it look like a volcano, maybe?”

“I was thinking it was a tree.”

“A tree?” He squinted. “I don’t really see a tree.”

Thor tucked the statue away in his armor, almost seeming to shrink it somehow, and made his way to them. “I will carry the artifact. It is damaged, and its effects are not contained.”

Fitz blinked. “It’s leaking?”

“As you say.”

“Well. Ah, yes, that sounds good.” Fitz cleared his throat (Jemma thought he might be blushing). “Will you carrying it keep whatever it does from affecting us?”

“Yes.”

Jemma gestured at the house. “May we?”

Thor nodded and stepped past them towards the SUV, and Jemma hefted her case and made for the front yard. Fitz shook himself out and followed her. As they set to picking through the wreckage of the landscaping, Jemma couldn’t help but hear Thor’s conversation with May and Ward.

“We’re going to take her to the Bus,” May said. “Need a lift?”

“No, thank you,” Thor said. “I must restore the weather patterns first. I will meet you at your vessel.” Jemma glanced up just in time to see Thor vanishing into the clouds overhead.

As he and May watched Thor disappear, Ward said, “You were going to make me sit in the back, weren’t you.”

May’s answering look had an edge of satisfaction to it that suggested whatever had happened between them during the entire Lorelei fiasco was beginning to, if not mend, at least scab over, and Jemma couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. A minute later the SUV pulled away.

“Oh, my, God, Jemma—you have to see this.”

The weather was returning to normal for a Nevada spring, making slush out of the hail. The spot where Thor had landed was blasted clean, and Fitz was clearing a wider perimeter around that, revealing blackened trails radiating out from it like branches of lightning themselves. Fitz pried at one of them and broke something loose: sand and clay forming a hollow tube that glinted inside.

“Fulgurites.” He scooped the damp clay away from another fork. “Some of these are as thick as my arm.” 

The longest branch reached over two hundred feet, and in following it, Jemma and Fitz discovered dozens of smaller, much older impact sites at various points.

They stared in silence for several seconds, then Fitz said, “Does...this mean she can use lightning?”

“Possibly. Or it might just be from the weather she summons.” Despite what she said, Jemma wondered if they’d escaped serious injury by a narrower margin than she’d previously thought. 

“Right.” Fitz flicked a glance at her which said his thoughts were running along the same track. “We should take samples of both.”

She nodded in agreement, and shifted her attention to the house. “Do you think that statue’s left any kind of lingering aura?”

“Mmm. Could be. Maybe just send in the drones?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“We can get more fulgurite samples that way.”

“Precisely.”

They’d dug up almost five full pounds of samples before Coulson called and told them to stop rock collecting and come back to the Bus.

***

It occurred to Jemma that Thor wasn’t supposed to know Coulson was alive about two seconds before Thor stepped out of the Cage and shut the door to find Coulson and herself waiting for him.

She saw the fingers of his right hand twitch, and remembered how Sif’s first reaction had also been to reach for a weapon. That in turn made her suspect that necromancy was a problem Asgardians faced more often than reasonable.

“Is this some trick?” Despite the nature of his question, Thor’s expression was guarded and hopeful. It took Jemma a moment to realize he was talking to her. 

“No, he’s,” she reached up and prodded Coulson in the shoulder, which Coulson took without complaint, “really here.”

“It’s me,” Coulson said, and Thor let out a sharp breath and smiled. He stepped forward and clasped one of Coulson’s forearms, and Jemma had the distinct impression Thor just barely stopped himself from hugging Coulson.

“It is good to see you, my friend, but—I do not understand. How is it you are alive?”

For a moment Jemma saw Coulson’s mask slip. He seemed tired and unhappy. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Thor’s smile turned rueful and sympathetic, and the last of his tension gave way to relief. “Perhaps someday you will tell it to me.”

“I will.”

Thor released Coulson’s arm and stepped back, maybe because he’d remembered Jemma was still there. He glanced pointedly at the door. “She is malnourished and dehydrated. Do you have food and water?”

Coulson looked to Jemma, and she nodded. “If her body’s stressed, we’ll have to keep it simple. Broth, maybe soft noodles to start with.”

Coulson folded his arms. “Do you mind talking to her for us? I doubt she can do much to you, and I’d like to get a better idea of how stable she is without putting anyone at risk.”

“I do not mind in the least.”

***

They put together a simple meal (”This isn’t really food,” Skye informed Jemma when she saw the tray’s contents) for Thor to give the woman, and he went back into the room and helped her get settled. He also, it turned out, had to help her eat, because she wasn’t strong enough to hold the spoon or glass steady. While he did so they spoke, and Skye watched the feed while Jemma and Fitz went over the samples and readings they had from the house and yard. The details were slow to come out, but eventually Skye had names to work with and started digging. What she found, however, was nonsensical at best.

“Okay, the name she gave, for her mom. Patricia Ortiz, right? And the property was registered to Raphael Ortiz, who had a wife named Patricia Ortiz, so it tracks. And she says she’s their daughter, Isabel, and there’s a birth record for an Isabel Ortiz born in Nevada.”

Jemma moved to stand next to her. “Right.”

Skye shook her head. "Definitely _not_ right. Isabel Ortiz was born in 1992.” She swept a hand across the monitor in front of her, and the results opened on the wall display. “This says Patricia Ortiz got her PhD from CalTech in the early Eighties. She didn't get married until 1988."

Jemma considered the two photos of Patricia and her husband; she supposed she could see some of the woman’s features if she tried, but that wasn’t very scientific. And besides... "How could she marry in 1988 and have a daughter old enough to be my grandmother?"

From where he was analyzing the fulgurites with the mass spectrometer, Fitz suggested, "Time travel?" Skye gave him a disgusted look, and he said, "We've seen weirder, and really, what other explanation is there?"

"How about that she's _not_ Isabel Ortiz, and just fixated on some name she saw in the news?"

"Oh, sure, go all Occam's Razor on us."

Skye rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying, as crazy as some of the things we deal with are, time travel is pretty out there."

"More out there than a weather witch? Than a weather-controlling _alien_ , like the one who just helped us after he flew in using his," Fitz lifted his hand and shook it like he was holding something, “hammer?”

Jemma sighed. "Will you two please—"

Coulson's entrance, accompanied by May and Ward, broke up the argument. "What've we got."

Skye gestured at the main display. "She told Thor her mom was Patricia Ortiz, a geophysics professor from Southern California, but Patricia Ortiz died in 2012 at ripe old age of 54. He husband died about six months ago. Natural causes both. So either there's something else weird going on," she cast Fitz a dire look, and his mouth set in a thin line of disapproval, "or, she's lying."

"Weirder than her being able to control the weather?" Ward asked. Skye glared at him. Out of the corner of her eye Jemma saw Fitz smother a smug smile.

Coulson asked Jemma, "Can we do a DNA match?" and she shook her head.

"Nothing on file for Professor Ortiz or her husband I'm afraid, nor their daughter."

"So we have no way to corroborate her story," May said.

"Pretty much." Skye drummed her fingers on the holotable. "Though if she _is_ lying, you have to wonder why _this_ is what she went with."

"She is not," Thor said as he came into the room, and everyone looked at him, though it was Skye he addressed. "She is no older than you."

The hammer wasn’t in evidence, which was a relief; given the readings it gave off from simply being on the Bus, there was no telling what kind of damage it could do to the more sensitive instruments if it came too close. (Jemma imagined someone—Coulson? May?—had suggested he leave it in the cargo bay.) His cloak was gone, as was the mail-like armor that had been covering his arms, leaving them bare to his vambraces.

Only May and Coulson had the presence of mind to not stare, though to her credit Skye recovered the fastest. Her head jerked back in belated response to his statement. 

"Ex _cuse_ me?"

Skye’s exclamation dragged Jemma’s attention back to the present discussion. "You're not serious," she said, and Thor gave her a bland look which had her going back to her bench. "Alright, we'll run some tests."

Ward scrubbed a hand over his face. Coulson narrowed his eyes at Thor. "The statue?" Thor nodded. "Is there anything we can do to reverse the effect?"

"It is possible it will unravel on its own. The artifact is a focus of time and life, but not of permanence, so the changes should fade now that its influence is removed from her."

Jemma wondered if she was the only one obsessing over the language Thor was using. _Focus_. _Time_. _Life_. _Permanence_. She cut a glance at Fitz and saw his brows were furrowed while he watched Thor with an intense focus, which probably meant he was trying to memorize everything Thor said.

The others were more concerned with the immediate situation. May said, "Should?"

Thor grimaced. "They would be temporary to an Asgardian."

"But maybe not to a human."

“Perhaps not. It is difficult to say.” He looked up at the camera view of Isabel in the Cage; she’d curled up on the bed and to all appearances was asleep. “We will know soon enough.”

“How can you tell she’s not supposed to be that old?” Ward asked. Thor tilted his head and was some time in answering.

“You can tell, sometimes, when someone is ill, even though you are not a doctor, can you not?”

Ward folded his arms. "Yeah, sometimes."

“This is similar, though with magic. There is a sense about her of something wrong, something pulled out of shape.”

Skye frowned. “Is there anything we can do to put her back _into_ shape?”

“I do not know—I am no healer. We will have to wait and see.”

“We’re pretty good at waiting,” Coulson said, and Jemma thought she heard Skye mutter, “Speak for yourself.”

May indicated an image of the artifact, which Thor had consented to let Jemma scan before hiding it away again. “Was that also granting her the ability to control the weather?”

Thor shook his head. “No. That much is innate to her.”

“Wow,” Fitz said. “An actual weather witch.”

Coulson raised his eyebrows at Thor. “Planning on sticking around?”

“Until you have determined how you can best help her,” he said.

***

When Isabel woke up she seemed more amenable to interaction, so Jemma inquired about tests. Isabel consented, if reluctantly, and insisted Thor be in the room while Jemma collected samples. 

Hair, fingernails, and cheek swab went as expected, then Jemma pulled out a needle, butterfly valve, collection vials, and tubing. Isabel grimaced and eased back one of the loose sleeves of her threadbare sweater, offering her arm. Jemma leaned in with a cotton swab of alcohol, only to pull up short at the sight of a complex, branching series of scars that wove its way from under the shirt sleeve nearly to Isabel’s wrist. 

The clinical part of her mind said, _Lichtenberg figure_ , and noted how similar the scarring pattern was to the fulgurites she and Fitz had pried out of Isabel’s front yard. The not-so-clinical part of her reeled from the implication. 

She met Isabel’s eyes, and was struck by the resignation she saw there. Jemma said, “You’re not immune to it?”

Isabel shook her head. Her eyes flitted over Jemma’s shoulder to Thor, who was looming behind them, and when Jemma half-turned to face him, he said, “She does not possess a power to combat the injuries.”

Jemma looked back down at Isabel’s arm and hesitated. “Will it hurt if I put the needle through them? I may not have to, but...”

“No.” Isabel traced one of the winding, splitting paths from her wrist to her elbow. “On this arm they’re not very deep.”

“Alright.” Jemma took the blood samples, taped off the crook of Isabel’s elbow, and gathered everything up. “I’ll let you know what we find,” she promised, and quit the room. 

Later, when she was making notes concerning the scarring in her files, Jemma recalled Isabel mentioning ‘others’ who’d come after the artifact before—Coulson’s theory was they’d been Centipede agents, since there was no S.H.I.E.L.D. record—and wondered how much of the scarring had come from trying to defend herself.

***

“The, artifact, has been keeping her alive through the damage she’s taken from using her powers, while simultaneously aging her.” Jemma didn’t add the one photo she’d taken of the Lichtenberg figure scarring to the display, instead sticking to the graphs, charts, and cell stains. “You can see tissue regeneration has been happening here, here, and here. She has Lichtenberg figure scarring, and there are numerous signs of healed fractures.”

Skye said, “I thought Lichtenberg figures didn’t scar,” and she sounded like she was imagining exactly what Jemma had seen.

“They normally don’t.” With a glance at Thor, Jemma said, ”We think it might be an effect of the artifact.”

“So the artifact is _causing_ those scars while healing other injuries?” Ward aimed his question at Thor, who nodded.

“In its damaged state it is functioning erratically.”

Coulson asked the big question which had been looming in Jemma’s mind. “So is it Asgardian?”

“No.” Thor considered Fitz’s rendering of the object, and even reached out to enlarge and then rotate it. In her peripheral vision Jemma saw Ward and Coulson share an exasperated look. “Dwarven, I would guess. I have seen other pieces of this style in their Realm. Perhaps it was meant to preserve something.”

“Dwarven?” Skye said, and Thor looked at her. “Sorry did you just say that, there are dwarves?” She pointed up. “Out there, in space? There are space dwarves?”

“Yes. They are some of the greatest craftsman in all the Realms. Mjölnir is one of their finest accomplishments.”

Skye opened her mouth, closed it, then said, “Ah—of course it is.”

“How do you think it got here?” Coulson asked. Thor sighed and straightened, and once his attention was off Skye she mouthed, ‘Space dwarves,’ to no one in particular.

“There are numerous possibilities. Your information indicates it was already damaged when her mother found it, so it could easily have remained in that location for centuries after being dropped by a soldier in one of the armies that moved through Midgard in times long past.” 

“Not left here on purpose?”

Thor’s eyes flitted to the holodisplay. “No,” he said. “This was an important artifact to whomever it belonged. They would not have wanted to lose it.”

With the most fake smile Jemma had ever seen, Coulson said, “Well. Since it’s leaking and dangerous and killing people, you can feel free to take it.”

“That is very generous of you, Son of Coul,” Thor replied, his own smile touched with wry humor.

“I’m a generous guy.”

“That you are.” 

Jemma heard Skye murmur to Fitz, “Son of _Coul_?”

***

Later in the day, just before sunset, Thor took the artifact out into the desert. There was a signal spike which Fitz had taken to calling a Bifröst Sign, and Thor came back and reported it was now on Asgard, where it could be properly repaired or disposed of. 

The following morning Isabel began to show signs of recovering, and once Coulson announced they would be stashing her at a safehouse Thor prepared to take his leave. He had a final conversation with her, much of it revolving around her powers, and Jemma wished Coulson hadn’t given the blanket order to record nothing. It was so very hard to follow some of the terms and concepts Thor described when she had no basis from which to grasp them. (She and Fitz took detailed notes and resolved to compare them later.)

Thor left in the afternoon. Coulson walked with him down the loading ramp and out into the hard desert sun, where they stood and talked briefly. Jemma lingered by the ramp to listen. It was eavesdropping, no two ways about it, but she did it anyways, and told herself she’d take anything she heard to the grave.

“So where-abouts are you hanging out? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Jane and Erik’s work has them a short distance south of here. It is why I was able to arrive so quickly. However, I will return with them to London soon.”

“London? Really?” Coulson got out a business card and pen and began scribbling on the back. “Could you do me a favor and drop by, say hello to someone for me?”

“Of course.” Thor took the card and examined the name. “Who is this?”

“One of your countrymen, actually.” Thor frowned, and Coulson added, “He’s been on sabbatical out here for a few centuries. He might not mind a friendly face.”

Thor’s features eased. “Ah. I will be glad to meet him. Thank you.” He tucked the card away into his armor, and placed his free hand on one of Coulson’s shoulders. “You are certain you do not wish for me to tell the others?”

“Yeah,” Coulson said, and Thor sighed, though also ducked his head in acquiescence.

“It will be so. I will make no mention of you.”

“Thanks.”

Thor’s hand tightened on Coulson’s shoulder and he smiled, then stepped back. He swung Mjölnir and sped away into the sky.

***

By that evening Isabel appeared to be Skye’s age, or a little younger, and the resemblance to her parents’ photos was clearer. She had her mother’s olive-toned skin and auburn hair, and her father’s sharp, angular face, dark brown eyes, and short stature. Her weight didn’t come back, though her strength recovered enough that she could eat and dress on her own, so there was hope she would fully recover.

Unfortunately the scars remained. Thor had warned Isabel that was likely, and Jemma thought Thor’s handling of Isabel accounted for some of Isabel’s equanimity when they didn’t fade.

She was still wary of talking to them, though seemed willing to engage with Jemma on a limited basis. She gave them more blood for tests, which Jemma obsessed over endlessly, hoping she might find a link between Isabel’s healing and Skye and Coulson’s.

During one such session, she said, “I wish we’d talked him into leaving it. Surely there was a way to contain the power.”

Fitz was testing his new set of retrievers; one of them bumped into a wall, and he made a face and started swiping at his tablet furiously. “I’m pretty sure the number of people who can talk Thor into anything he’s set against can be counted on one hand.”

“Yes but Agent Coulson is bound to be one of them.”

“Maybe he didn’t think it was prudent to use their friendship that way. I mean, Thor only just found out he’s not dead, and all.”

Jemma sighed. Fitz was probably right. As she pulled up the next set of comparisons, she murmured, “It would be nice to study, though.”

Fitz said, “It would.”

***

They took Isabel to the safehouse (more of a safefarm, really) the next day. The desert had weathered the squat adobe home, but it appeared well-kept, and a half-dozen or so horses—long-haired, stub-muzzled, short-bodied animals which Jemma was sure had to be Mustangs—shuffled in their paddock and eyed them with curiosity as they drove up in an SUV. 

An older, heavy-set woman, her nut-brown hair shot through with gray and white, shuffled out from the farmhouse to meet them with a pair of heelers in exuberant tow. Ward greeted her with a hug, and started speaking to her in Spanish while Isabel watched with Jemma and Skye from a distance.

Isabel asked, “So I’ll be safe here?” and Skye peered around them, squinting. 

“As safe as we can get you right now. Middle of nowhere, but there’s Internet access—three bars of 4G, I checked. So you won’t be cut off from the world completely, but you shouldn’t have anyone harassing you.”

Jemma added, “These are former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, they’ll take care of you.”

Isabel tightened her grip on the small bag of things they’d given her (a smartphone, some clothes, and a few basic necessities). “Okay.”

Ward turned to face them and gestured. Isabel stepped forward, and Jemma started, remembering something she and Fitz had discussed the other day at the last second.

“Wait.” Isabel turned, and Jemma reached into her pocket and pulled out the dusty-brown conglomeration of clay, sand, and pebbles with a blue, glassy heart. “Here.”

“Wow, that’s a...pretty awesome rock,” Skye said, sounding skeptical.

Isabel looked puzzled as well until she took it in her hand and ran her fingers over it. Her eyes widened. “Is this a fulgurite?”

Jemma nodded and smiled. “From your front yard.”

Isabel stared at the fragment until Ward called for her. She pocketed it and gripped first Skye and then Jemma’s hands with her free one. “Thanks.”

Skye said, “No worries.”

"You're welcome," Jemma said. Isabel gave Jemma’s hand another squeeze, then turned and walked down the driveway to Ward and the other woman.

Once Isabel was out of earshot, Skye asked, “Think she’ll be okay?”

Isabel and the woman walked into the house, and Ward started back towards them.

Jemma thought of the girl trapped in a dying body and possessed with powers she didn’t understand, who had none the less been ready to defy them to her last breath; the same girl who'd just now thanked them with fragile hope in her eyes as she went off to start a new life with an uncertain future in the hands of strangers.

“Yes,” Jemma said. “She’ll be alright.”


End file.
